


Call it Home

by Scorpio_Sunrise



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Friendship/Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 12:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7463868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scorpio_Sunrise/pseuds/Scorpio_Sunrise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan sat in a sea of blue and bronze, happy to have finally escaped his father and his suffocating spiral. Brendon sat in a pit of snakes and knew that although he was out of his parent's unforgiving grasp, he was still just as trapped as before, and despite what he'd tried to convince the hat, very ambitious... ambitious to be someone they would never approve of... himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(The angst-ridden ryden hogwarts au that I needed to exist and have yet to find...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call it Home

Ryan wasn’t particularly brave, nor was he particularly loyal, or cunning, but he loved the comfort of books and the intelligence to be gained from them and the sorting hat had hesitated only the briefest moment before placing him in the house of blue and bronze. After he had sat himself down on the end of a long bench filled with cheering raven claws and waited uncertainly for Spencer to sit beside him, but he never did.

The hat had sat quietly upon Spencer Smith’s head for nearly ten minutes before exclaiming a loud and decided “GRYFINNDOR!” Ryan felt a small piece of himself deflate and Spencer sent him a regretful and apologetic look as he stumbled uncertainly toward the mass of screaming red and gold. 

A few more first years were sorted when a tiny boy with pointed glasses and shiny brown hair made his way up the steps and seemed afraid he would bump his ankles against one another as he walked with long, careful strides before the hat sunk down over his eyes. Ryan watched quietly with the rest of the students as Urie, Brendon grimaced at whatever it was the hat was saying. His hands were clenched in his robes. 

Ryan remembered this boy from the train station. He remembered him bouncing excitedly beside a large, silver lined trunk while holding an elaborate owl cage. The boy had pointed at several things and talked loudly, Ryan could hear him about twenty feet away, and the boy had even waved at him when he saw Ryan looking his way. Ryan had just begun to raise his hand in return when Spencer had tugged on his arm at pointed at a man whose hair was dripping from green to red, and whose skin was fading from striped to speckled. When Ryan had turned back to the boy he was looking up at a woman whom Ryan presumed to be his mother, and he was flinching in a way that Ryan understood very well.

“I’m surprised it’s taking this long, usually the Uries are straight to the Slytherin table the second the hat touches their head,” one of the taller boys beside Ryan remarked quietly under his breath and a girl with curly blonde hair agreed with a non-committal nod. Ryan looked at the Slytherin table with its prim, straight-backed assembly and then back at the anxious boy on the stool. 

He and Spencer had heard on the train that Slytherin was not the house for them, considering their muggle parentage, and that it was “mostly a load of cheats and pretentious gits anyway,” according to a second year Hufflepuff who had been polishing her broomstick lovingly. 

Apparently students actually rode those… for sport? Ryan didn’t think this seemed plausible, or safe. He still wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t some kind of elaborate joke, or dream. His eyes were wide, scared that he’d blink and wake up to the sun in his eyes and his father thumping his way clumsily down the hall, finally home from the bar. 

A cry of “SLYTHERIN” interrupted Ryan’s train of thought and his eyes shot up to see the small boy’s eyes reappear from beneath the brim of the hat. He stood with a dejected jerk and his hand reached up to brush against his upper lip as he drifted over to his house, where two older boys and a girl were standing while the others politely clapped. The standing students had the same chocolate brown hair, the same lips and nose, and pulled him into their midst with smiles, and didn’t seem to notice that it took perhaps a bit more effort than it is expected to pull a member of one’s family into an embrace. 

The rest of the sorting went on rather quickly, students walking unfalteringly to their tables and accepting the warmth of their fellow housemates with anxious smiles. Walker, Jon was sorted into Hufflepuff, which seemed to be a surprise to him as he wore a seemingly involuntary grin as he sat upon the stool for quite some time before Professor McGonagall snapped at him to get a move on. He quickly stumbled toward his new family of yellow and his smile fit in amongst the sunshine.

As the feast began and an unlimited feast of food appeared right beneath Ryan’s nose, he quickly lost his curiosity about the small Slytherin boy and set out to eat more than he could ever before afford.

 

 

Brendon lay in his silken silver sheets that night and stared at the emerald green canopy. He knew outside his bed were green walls and green rugs and green trunks and green ambition and he thought it was rather ironic. He was so desperate to be free of his family that he had accidentally become the trait of their house, ambitious. He was rather ambitious to be everything the Urie family was not. Unprejudiced, modern, unpolitical, and especially NOT SLYTHERIN. 

Yet here he lay in a cocoon of emerald and silver, cursing merlin for his own rotten luck. His brother had looked down at him on the way to the dungeons and told him he would owl their parents immediately, and that they would be so proud and Brendon felt a familiar swirl in his stomach that reminded him that no, they wouldn’t be. They never were. 

He had been disappointing them since he could first talk and had begun to play games with the house elves, and then had begun to smile at them as well, and thank them, and let them sit on the furniture and before long his father had laid a tiny half-dead friend at his feet, about his own size, and demanded, “is this FILTH worthy of your respect son?” and Brendon, six years old and crying silently, bit his lip. He was smacked across the face and the house elf was fed to the dogs. Brendon had never spoken to the house elves again. But they always made his favorite treats and didn’t tell his parents where he was hiding when they were looking for him. Some nights when he would say something undignified or act too neurotic at a social function Brendon would be denied his dinner and the house elves would sneak him a chocolate frog or two.

One of the other boys in the room blew out their candle and the room was immersed in darkness. Brendon turned over and smelled the clean sheets, they smelled like treacle tart and freshly cut grass and he was suddenly reminded that it didn’t matter that he was in Slytherin. After all, he wasn’t home, and wasn’t that at the very least, a relief?

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted a panic! hogwarts au and there is really no other reason for this. I need to start writing more and I've had the plot of this floating around in my head so I went for it. This chapter is much shorter than the rest will be because this is really just a set-up for the rest of the story... I will be skipping to third year in the next chapter because the first two years are not really needed for the story I plan on telling... I will try to have the next chapter up in a few days, but seeing as how I just started that is a tentative goal. Thank you for reading and feel free to leave a comment! <3


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